


Promises of Eternity/Sugar World

by cyprianlatewood



Series: 69 Love Songs Vol 4 [5]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, M/M, Multi, Shameless Smut, Songfic, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyprianlatewood/pseuds/cyprianlatewood
Summary: Just who is this "Dark King?" Eliot and Quentin get some help, among other things, from a long-lost Chatwin. Or, The Quentin/Eliot/Rupert Bodyswap Threesome. Takes place in the second half of Season 5.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: 69 Love Songs Vol 4 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162388
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. What if the show didn't go on?

**Author's Note:**

> If you aren't into threesomes, skip from the beginning of Chapter 2 to the line - '“So,” Rupert started, before pausing to take a huge gulp of the grainy swill that passed as Fillorian coffee.' 
> 
> Thanks to [punkfistfights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkfistfights/pseuds/punkfistfights) for the alpha read!
> 
> Also, this title references two Magnetic Fields songs, lyrics in Italics.  
> [Promises of Eternity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FGJ6zjSCmQ)  
> [Sugar World](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9OUDSbdqlg)
> 
> And for those who like a visual, I fancast Rupert as played by
> 
> hold mouse over spoiler for popup text

_ What if the show didn't go on? _ _  
_ _ What if we all got jobs and got to bed before dawn? _ _  
_ _ What if old Joe had to retire? _ _  
_ _ What if all the stage hands were let go or fired? _ _  
_ _ That's just like what the world would be _ _  
_ _ If you fell out of love with me _ _  
_ _  
_ _ I can't let this happen to you _ _  
_ _ Don't you let it happen to me _ _  
_ _ What would our friends and family say? _

_ If they could only see _ _  
_ _ If you let this happen to us _ _  
_ _ Don't think you'd be setting me free _ _  
_ _ Wasn't it you and I _

_ Who made promises of eternity? _ _  
_ _ What if the lights didn't go on? _ _  
_ _ What if the velvet curtain had to be taken down? _ _  
_ _ What if the clowns couldn't be clowns? _

_ And all those painted smiles gave in to plaintive frowns _ _  
_ _ What if no show ever happened again? _ _  
_ _ No seven, no eight and a half, no nine and no ten _ _  
_ _ All numbers and no mystery _ _  
_ _ No promise of eternity _ _  
_ _  
_ _ I can't let this happen to you _ _  
_ _ Don't you let it happen to me _ _  
_ _ What would our friends and family say? _ _  
_ _ If they could only see _ _  
_ _  
_ _ If you let this happen to us _ _  
_ _ Don't think you'd be setting me free _ __  
_ Wasn't it you and I _ _  
_ __ Who made promises of eternity?

_ - _ Magnetic Fields, “Promises of Eternity”

It was kind of fun, Eliot thought. Being back in Whitespire, without being in charge – no fairy queen watching his every move, no diplomatic minefields involving elaborate schemes to avoid non-consensual sex with underage Lannister wannabees. He and Quentin had snagged a little room in the servants quarters that was homey, if a bit spartan. They got their fill of extravagant foodstuffs from Josh in the kitchen, and spent their days spying on the court while pretending to do whatever servant-y stuff Rafe had convinced the Pickwick in charge they were qualified to do. They were pretty much ignored, which was quite a welcome change from the past. Although he definitely missed the clothes. And the crown. 

It seemed as though Quentin missed those things even more than he did. Because currently, he was trying to cajole Eliot into some royal roleplay in the currently-empty throne room. “Come on, El! The Dark King is out fighting Takers or whatever, he won’t be back for hours. Just put a little proximity ward on the entrance and we’ll have plenty of time to get out if it senses their return. You have _ no idea _ how many times I thought about this. Thought about waiting in the line of loyal subjects, all wanting to gain your favor as you lounge regally on your throne. Finally getting my turn, my chance to prove that I’m worth your attention.”

Eliot shivered. How different everything would have been if it hadn’t been for his fidelity clause back then. He tried to imagine it – his eyes casting bored glances over the long line of annoying peasants with petty complaints, Margo whispering snarky commentary in his ear. His eye catching on that one perfect little specimen halfway back. Soft, brown locks obscured the man’s face, but when he looked up and their eyes met, Eliot could see the want in those huge, dark eyes. The shine on those wet lips as the man’s tongue kept nervously tracing them. ‘Margo, you take the next five. I want that one,’ he might have said, with a minuscule gesture of his head. Margo would roll her eyes but wave the line over to her side, while Eliot would crook one finger and tug this beautiful man forward by an invisible thread. 

“Oh yeah? And how would you prove that, hmm?” He asked. They hovered in the middle of the room, not moving closer to the dais, but not retreating to the shadows, either. Q stepped into him, hands brushing down the front of Eliot’s rough linen wrap shirt. Not quite the luxurious brocade this particular fantasy suggested, but they had vivid imaginations. 

“Well,  _ Your Majesty _ –“ his wide fingertips grazing Eliot’s waistband, causing his stomach muscles to flutter involuntarily – “I assume you need some sort of physical demonstration. Probably with my mouth –" and he leaned in to nip at Eliot’s exposed throat – “on your  _ massive _ ,  _ royal _ dick,” he finished, his hand cupping Eliot’s groin and squeezing, just a little. Eliot gave a breathy laugh, trying to stay in character. 

“In front of all these people? Scandalous,” he murmured. 

“Well, how else am I to prove my claim? I need –" and here, he started to fumble with the ties on Eliot’s trousers - “your favor –” licking his collarbone - “for my, umm -” hand reaching in, making contact, a moan rising from Eliot’s throat, “my umm –"

“Focus, peasant,” Eliot breathed, hands reaching around Q’s waist, slipping under his shirt hem, caressing, supporting. “What is it you want in return, hmm? Gold? Like a little slut, here to give me a blow job in front of the entire court, for a paltry handful of gold?” And he felt Quentin’s muscles go a bit liquid under his hands. 

“Yes, that’s it, I’m – just here for the gold. I need it – I’ll do anything –"

“Ah, but I don’t think it’s just about the gold. I think you like this, peasant. On your knees, everyone watching. Seeing how well you take me in your mouth – “ 

“ _ Fuck _ , El,” Q whined, trying weakly to pull him towards the dais. Eliot was wavering. It  _ would _ feel good to be on that throne again. And he had always been a bit partial to exhibitionism. He started to turn.

But there were voices in the hallway, and before they could take a step, the soft buzz of the proximity wards startled them out of the fantasy. They jumped apart, trying to recover their composure, as the current King himself strode into the room, followed by his advisors. He seemed in a hurry, and angry. “I need that gold immediately, Bick,” he said roughly as he stomped up to the throne and turned. “I am already late on my payments. Who knows what could happen if I don’t get it in time.” 

They had never been this close to the Dark King before. He didn’t seem to notice their presence, however, as he leaned forward with his head in his hands. His short black hair was slicked back, an obnoxious cape draped over his shoulders and a familiar crown atop his head, although it looked like he had bedazzled it a bit over the past few centuries. He wasn’t a particularly attractive man, but he was young, and fit, and seemed to ooze power. Bick (Pickwick, Eliot assumed with an internal sneer) certainly seemed to covet that power as he stood before the dais with a classic snivel. “Sire, if I may,” he began, in a high, nasally voice. Yep, definitely a Pickwick. “I believe that the Fairies are, in fact, hoarding gold. I believe that if we were to run a raid on their encampments today, we would find all the gold you need to make your payments, and then some.”

Eliot found himself stepping forward before he could stop himself. “That’s not possible.” The king looked up in surprise at his interjection. 

Bick turned to him in a huff. “And just who are you, exactly?” He sneered.  _ Fuck _ . 

He took a calming breath. “Excuse me for interrupting, your majesty. I know I’m just a servant, and it’s not my place, but I know Fairies, and they do not hoard gold.” 

Bick rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to listen to a servant, Sire?” he complained.

The King looked interested, for a moment. But he was already turning back to Bick when his eyes were drawn to Quentin, who was looking down at his feet. For a moment, it almost looked as though he recognized him, and then a sly grin started to form across his face. “Servants, you say?” 

Eliot stepped forward a bit instinctively, protecting Q from the man’s leer. “Yes, Your Majesty. Castle security. Just doing our rounds, checking for intruders.” Quentin looked up, nodding in earnest agreement. He had a similar reaction when his eyes fell on the King’s face, but instead of his half-recognition forming into an evil smirk, it dissipated into resigned confusion, and then seemed forgotten as he turned to Eliot. 

“Uhh, so now that we have finished in here, we should probably get on with it, right?” Nudging Eliot with his elbow.

“Wait a moment,” the King commanded. “Bick, I think it’s possible this man may be right. Fairies are not known for petty thievery. They would not hoard gold unless it was related to some kind of deal. You may visit the camps with the Guard, but tread lightly. We wouldn’t want to make them our enemy.”

“And what if we find that they are indeed stealing?” Bick countered.

The king waved his hand, tired. “Yes, fine, then you may do what you need.” 

“Thank you, Sire,” Bick smiled down his nose at Eliot as he left. Eliot and Quentin faded into the shadows as the King fell back into his own thoughts, clearly deeply troubled.

\--

“We have to warn the Fairies!” Quentin frantically whispered as soon as they were out of earshot of the throne room. 

“Get a bunny from Josh,” Eliot directed him. “Just make sure it’s not one of the ones he’s using for his movie club promotion. They are so overworked they will probably just shout random Star Wars trivia. Margo and Fen will be with the Fairies, so just send it their way.” 

“What about you?”

“I’ll see if I can get a peek at what Bick is planning.”

“Okay, but please be careful,” Quentin pleaded. Eliot gave him a quick kiss and sent him off to the kitchen. As he turned to head towards the armory, he jumped when a figure suddenly appeared beside him. 

“Dammit, Charlton, where did you come from?” he hissed.

“Well, I have to sleep sometime, don’t I? It’s not as though everything you do is interesting. And I have seen more than enough of you and Quentin since we came here, if I must be honest.”

Eliot looked over at him, a bit affronted, but turning sly as he spotted the red flush high on Charlton’s cheeks. 

“A bit of a voyeur, are we?”

Charlton huffed. “I am, simply, not going to honor that question with an answer. And as you may have heard, I said I have seen  _ enough _ . Not that I want to see more.”

“Okay, Jesus, I get it. I will do my best to warn you if I plan on offending your prudish heterosexual sensibilities in the future.”

“Now, that is most definitely  _ not _ what I was implying. I am very - open - to all kinds of fuck. Just not constantly. And you hardly need to warn me, just you two being alone in a room is warning enough.” 

Eliot snorted. Fair.

“And there are plenty of places in your memories I can go instead if I -"

“Christ, Charlton, now  _ that _ is more than  _ I  _ need to know!” He shuddered.

As he was ambling down the corridor, distracted by this silent conversation with his imaginary friend, he didn’t see the man until he had nearly tripped over him. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered.

A crisp but soothingly-accented voice floated up to him. “The fault was all mine, no apology necessary. I must learn to look where I am going.” Eliot looked down at the Earth man, who was dressed in a waxed canvas coat and thick boots, as though he had been prepared for a walk on the English moors. His wispy brown-gray hair was wild around his face, but clearly thinning at the upper corners of his tanned and lightly-creased forehead. Piercing blue eyes danced as he took in Eliot’s lithe form, still closer than perhaps appropriate. 

“Actually, you may be the very person I am looking for. Or one of them, anyway. Do you know a Plum Chatwin?”

Eliot shakes his head, confused. “I have met a few Chatwins, but I can’t actually say that Plum is one of them.” 

The man’s eyes are positively mirthful, now. “Oh, well then, how about a Mr. Penny Adiyodi?”

“Yes, I know Penny. But - Sorry, who are you?” 

“Well, I am not sure if you have heard about me, but I believe I am related to those Chatwins you say you have met. My name is Rupert.” And he held out a hand in greeting. Eliot just stared at him. 

“Rupert would be, like, 400 hundred years old by now. Also, I’m pretty sure he died. You can’t possibly be him!”

“Oh, I assure you, it’s me. I haven’t exactly been awake for quite some time, but I am here now, and hoping you could help me out. But is there a place we can talk, that isn’t out in the middle of the hallway? I’m not exactly inconspicuous, you see,” gesturing to his adventuring gear, and Eliot laughed, incredulous. 

“Of course. I’ll bring you to the kitchen. Assuming you actually are who you say you are, Q is going to absolutely lose his shit when he meets you.” 

\--

“THE Rupert Chatwin?!” Q was giving exquisite fanboy, just as Eliot had anticipated. He gazed at his boyfriend fondly as he jumped up from the table where he was sitting with Josh. There were no bunnies in sight. Then Quentin narrowed his eyes and paused. “I mean, are you sure? He could just be pretending - nobody has seen Rupert in years, he could be anyone!” He looked over at the stranger apologetically. “Sorry, it’s just - fool me twice, you know?”

The man nodded in bemused understanding. “Of course, well, anything you want to ask me, I’ll do my best to prove my identity to you.” Q opened his mouth, clearly ready to go reddit-nerd central on the poor man.

“First things first, dear,” Eliot chided, reaching for his arm. “Did you send the bunny to Margo and Fen?”

“Oh yeah, Josh and I warned them. They’re taking the Fairies somewhere safe and we will meet them later. No problem.” And his eyes locked back on Rupert. “Okay, let’s see - I can’t ask you about stuff from the books, because it would be too easy for anyone who read them to know, and I can’t ask you Fillory stuff because you could just be a Fillorian - what would only a Chatwin know? Okay, how about - what was it like riding on the Cozy Horse?” He held his face perfectly still, like he was bluffing at cards. The man raised an eyebrow, assessing him, and then chuckled.

“Trick question. Jane made up the Cozy Horse completely, to mess with Plover. She was a bit of a prankster. Of course, because Ember is bloody unhinged, he made the Cozy Horse a real thing as soon as he heard. Sadly, I never got a chance to ride it.”

Quentin looked impressed, but still wary. “Okay, how about the Watcherwoman? Who was she, really?”

“Jane, of course. She pulled that one when she was still trying to figure out the watch, bollocksed up the timeline and decided to have some fun. She claimed to have killed her and taken up her mantle, but I’m pretty sure she made the whole thing up.” 

“Okay, closer, but I still feel like you could have figured those out without being Rupert. I can only think of one that would really prove it.” Quentin looked like he was hesitating to ask what was on his mind, but then he barreled ahead anyway. “What - what happened in the West Dorm?”

The man went ashen. He looked like he had seen a ghost, which - well. “How did you -"

Quentin looked stricken. “Okay, I - I’m sorry, that’s private, I shouldn’t have -"

The man steeled himself. “No matter, it’s true - what you ask will show me as the coward I was and no other. I’ve long since come to terms with that fact. The love of my life lived in that dorm, and I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I was afraid. So when I learned that there was a truth key in Fillory, I found it and brought it to Lance, so that he might see how I felt. And he loved me, and it was everything, and - “ he broke off, swallowing noisily. “And then his father got ahold of the key, and, well, you know the rest.”

“I’m so sorry,” Quentin’s face twisted with guilt.

“I went back, sometimes. The Dean sealed the place, but I knew a way past the wards. At first I just went back to try and figure out what really happened - they said it was a suicide but I just couldn’t believe that he would - anyway, once I saw him there, trapped in the loop, I came back to free him, but I couldn’t figure out how, and eventually, I realized it wasn’t actually him, after all, just trapped energy. And then I just came back to see his face, hear his voice. Pathetic, I know.”

“No, no. Not pathetic. Not pathetic at all,” Quentin said quickly. “I - umm, I feel like I should hug you now?” Eliot almost laughed in spite of the situation - it was just like his Q, to try and solve everything with hugs. Not that he would ever complain about that fact.

The man nodded imperceptibly, and Quentin wrapped him in a tight embrace. The man hooked his chin over Q’s shoulder and fell into the comfort easily. When he pulled back, he seemed calmer, although his face still held traces of ancient grief. Quentin’s face, on the other hand, had completely transformed. He gazed at the stranger in childlike wonder. “It  _ is  _ you! Rupert Chatwin. But how? I don’t understand, did Jane loop you forward somehow?”

“Let the poor man have a seat,” Eliot chuckled and Quentin blushed. He ducked his head and gestured to the table. The mood lightened, and once they were all comfortable and Josh was satisfied with their drink-slash-snack selection, they all turned back to Rupert in anticipation.

“Right. So, since you obviously know my sister Jane, I assume you know a fair amount, but just in case, I’ll start at the beginning, and you can interrupt me if you need me to elaborate or skip ahead. I assume you know of my brother, Martin.”

They shuddered. “We most certainly do,” Eliot responded.

“Well, the last time I saw him was in the early 1970’s, I suppose. I had been away from Fillory for years, as had my sister. Martin was just a boy when we left, stubborn and traumatized, yes, but still a sane and moral creature, as far as we could see. Although Jane had some misgivings, we let it be, and went about our normal lives as Earth magicians, albeit with new identities, of course. Years later, we started to hear things, terrible things. From the looks on your faces, you must know the magnitude of these things. Eventually we were called by Umber, in a dream. He told us we were needed in Fillory, that he had escaped but Ember was still there, trapped, and that Martin had become - something unnatural, a beast of sorts. Jane must have seen the signs, as she had apparently made a deal with the clock dwarves long before to obtain some kind of time-travel device, as a precaution.

Anyway, Jane and I went to Fillory with the device, and did our best to fight him, but it was impossible. He couldn’t kill us, in the end; some shred of humanity must have still remained. He put me in some kind of stasis spell instead, a long sleep. Jane must have escaped with my body and brought me back to Earth before he could do more damage. I woke up about a month back, in London. It was as if I had only been asleep for a night. I found myself in the basement of our old family home, long deserted. I spent some time trying to figure out what had happened, and finally, coming up on only dead ends, I traveled to Brakebills to see if anyone could help me find out what happened in Fillory. I went to the Dean’s office first, where I happened upon a nice fellow named Professor Adiyodi.”

Quentin snorted. “‘ _ Nice fellow,’ _ he says. You  _ have _ been asleep a long time!” Eliot gave him a friendly shove.

“So we got to talking, and sorted out that one of his students is Plum Chatwin, who is apparently my grand-niece. Professor Adiyodi informed me that Martin has been defeated, thanks to you all, and that my dear sister is residing somewhere in Fillory. He was able to direct me to the Clock in your lodgings in New York City and I traveled here. But things are - not quite as I would have expected, to say the least.”

“Yeah, so here’s the thing.” Quentin responded, after an awkward silence. “A lot of stuff happened after we took down the Beast - Martin. And one of those things involved destroying a power-hungry librarian who had recently drained the Secret Sea - when he was destroyed, a huge surge of magic was released that made the ambient go a little crazy and, you know, sent Fillory out of sync from Earth. We are now in the future by 300 years.”

“Oh dear!” Rupert uttered, looking baffled. “Well, that does sound like Fillory.”  _ Agreed _ .

“So,” Quentin continued, his hands coming into play now. Eliot could watch him talk with his hands for hours. Soon his eyebrows would start contributing, his hair, his shoulders. It was captivating, as always. “The thing is, in these 300 years, this ‘Dark King’ has come into power, and nobody can tell us where he came from, or why he can’t age, or die, or whatever. He doesn’t seem to be destructive, or purely evil. Some creatures called Takers apparently overrode the place right when the surges happened. This Dark King was, and still is, the only one who can kill them. And that, as far as we can tell, is the main reason he remains in power.”

“I see. And Jane?”

“She’s made herself a sort of pocket out of time, in the Clock Barrens. But I think you might want to get a different escort, when you go. She’s not my biggest fan, right now,” Eliot admitted. “I may have - borrowed some of her time travel collection without permission.”

“Oh well, unless the geography itself has changed, I am sure I can remember how to get to the Clock Barrens. And there’s no rush, really. I’m just glad to hear she’s alright.”

“Well, we should probably head to the Fairy encampment in the Windward Woods, Margo and Fen will be waiting for us,” Quentin cut in. “You could - come with us, if you like? Any extra help we could have would be appreciated.”

“I must say, from all my time in Fillory, I don’t recall meeting any Fairies,” Rupert said, puzzled.

Eliot waved his hand dismissively. “Oh well, you definitely didn’t miss much. They weren’t always as friendly to Children of Earth, shall we say. In the past, they couldn’t be seen unless you made a fairy deal with them, but because of some hijinks that shall go unnamed, all Fairies are visible to Fillorians. Not sure if you will be able to see them or not, though,” he added. “Or you, baby,” he realized, turning to Q.

Twin looks of disappointment fell over Rupert and Quentin’s faces. It was adorably hilarious how much they had in common. Then Q perked up. “Well, we were both Kings at one point, so maybe we would be counted as Fillorian?”

“Well, come on. Only one way to find out!” Rupert jumped up and then paused when he realized he had no idea where they were going. “After you,” he gestured.

—

So, it turned out that former Kings could indeed see Fairies. And that Q was not great at stealth. He was _very_ excited about meeting the Fairies, and his excitement got Fen excited, and before long, Rupert was getting wound up as well. “Hey,” Margo hissed. “Do you want Big Dripstick to find us? Keep it down!” 

To be fair, it was highly unlikely. They were far outside the encampment by now. The Fairies were leading them somewhere. As usual, they were annoyingly cryptic about where, just that they were going to show them what the Dark King was really up to.

“Framing the Fairies, for one thing,” Fen cried. “Bick absolutely planted the gold inside one of the tents, I watched him do it! And back at the castle, during my ‘maid on the outside’ mission” - here Margo rolled her eyes, clearly having heard no end of Fen’s ‘mission’ - “I heard him talking about trying to force out the talking animals from the courts!”

“That fucker is planning some ethnic cleansing bullshit, I bet,” Margo seethed. “The real question is, does he answer to the Dark King or is this his own fucked-up agenda?”

One of the Fairies turned back to them urgently and made a shushing noise. They gestured ahead to a clearing. The group crouched down and crawled over to a little berm on the edge of the clearing, where they could stay safely hidden and still observe the spectacle. 

It was hardly much to look at, at first. Just the Dark King standing with his back to them, hardly 20 feet away. Then he turned to the side, arms outstretched, and as they watched in confusion, he pulled lumps of gold out his pockets and scattered it to the dirt in front of him. He was in shadow, but then a parting cloud revealed his profile in the moonlight and Rupert gasped. He almost immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, but thankfully, the King had not heard. And then it was nearly forgotten in the ensuing shock they all felt when several pale, decaying hands shot up from the ground where the gold had fallen. The corpse-like creatures rose from the dirt covered in rags and decked out in gold trinkets. Takers. They rose and spread out into the woods as the King stood there, eyes closed in ecstasy. The Fairies gestured that it was time to leave, and quickly led them away from the scene.

“What dawn-of-the-dead bullshit was that?!” Margo cried once they were safely away and headed back to the castle. 

“I know him. The Dark King,” Rupert said quietly. His sunny mood had completely evaporated after what they had witnessed, and now had the air of someone with a heavy weight strapped to his shoulders. “He is Christopher Plover.”

“No fucking way. We’ve all met Plover, and that was most definitely not him,” Margo scoffed.

“I actually haven’t met him, Bambi,” Eliot interjected. 

“Whatever, Q certainly has.”

“Yeah, I did think he looked a little familiar. The last time we saw him, he  _ was _ immortal-ish. But also, well, old.” Quentin looked perplexed.

“Something has given him the ability to become, or at least appear, much younger. And I think he has maybe done some light illusion work, but it’s him alright. There were pictures of him in the house, from when he was in the Great War, and he looked a lot like that. And the way he carries himself - I would know that monster anywhere.” Rupert shuddered, clearly remembering something along the lines of what Quentin had witnessed years ago in the Plover house.

Josh and Fen made their (separate) excuses on returning to the castle and headed to their quarters. Margo looked after them with uncharacteristic wistfulness. Eliot wasn’t sure what was going on with them - last he checked things were in a kind of menage-a-silent-treatment on account of all the stabbing and betrayal, but Margo seemed to be weakening. He hung back, letting Rupert and Quentin walk ahead. “Bambi, talk to me.”

She looked up, and pouted a little, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. Josh has been trying to ‘make amends,’ ‘have a talk,’ whatever, but you know me. Mama doesn’t do talks. And Fen is furious with me since I almost really fucked things up with the Fairies. I feel like I never gave her enough credit, you know. She’s not half bad at all this diplomacy shit. I just wish the three of us could forget everything and just be normal again. Or whatever normal is for time-traveling werewolves.”

“I mean - don’t you always say, bang it out?” 

She scoffed. “Okay, El, that’s my typical recommendation for  _ you _ , but in this case I think that might fuck things even further up the ass. And not in the good way. Anyway, I feel like things with Josh are just kinda done, you know? God knows what I saw in that weirdo in the first place.”

“I mean, his macarons are pretty fucking great - “

“Fuck, I know. But I don’t need to bang him to get macarons.” They were at the servants' quarters. “Well, I guess I better get back to the barracks before they start asking questions. Let me know what you all work out.”

Eliot entered the servants' hall and found Rupert and Quentin at the long table, alone. They were still chatting animatedly, and Eliot felt a rush of fondness for Q. He slid onto the bench beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling him snuggle in without dropping his train of thought. In the next lull, he joined in. “So what are we going to do about Plover?” he asked.

“Well, I was thinking - we need to get close to him, somehow. Talk to him, get a look at his stuff,” Q proposed.

“Macarons!” Eliot cried. “Margo told me - Josh is deadly with macarons. He puts some strain of magical weed in there that will make Plover tell you anything you want. He may also think you’re a unicorn, but we’ll get the intel. Bring him some, say the kitchen had extra.”

“But he recognized me, I’m sure of it. So I can’t go.” 

“And obviously, I’m out. It has to be you, Eliot,” Rupert said.

“But I know next to nothing about this guy. Rupert, it would really make more sense if it was you. Can’t you, I don’t know, disguise yourself somehow?”

“Oh, I know! A body swap spell!” Q jumped in eagerly. They both looked at him skeptically. 

“Q, there’s no such thing,” El chided. “I know that I would  _ definitely _ have used such a spell if it existed.”

“No, no, there totally is. It’s from the Viveiros de Castro grimoire - not exactly Brakebills core curriculum.”

“Yeah, no kidding. That’s Poison Room level, baby, why were you reading that?” Eliot felt a little throb of heat, thinking about Quentin sneaking around, learning banned spells.

“I mean - we were looking into pretty much anything and everything when you were, umm, possessed. Kady grabbed it when she was down there with Zelda, so -" Quentin trailed off, realizing what he had just revealed.

God _. Q was going to switch their bodies to take the Monster and free Eliot._ His heart nearly stopped. “Quentin -"

“I didn’t do it, El. Obviously. It was just an idea. We went through like 500 ideas a day back then. Anyway, it seems like it might come in handy now.” 

And if that was the reason Eliot held him extra tightly that night, nobody needed to know.

—

In the morning, they asked Josh to make them a batch of his special “loose lips” macarons, giving some flimsy excuse about needing them for research purposes. They also enchanted a trio of rings to connect them so they could alert each other in emergencies, then hopped over to the Penthouse for the book and potion ingredients they couldn’t get on Fillory. The potion would take effect for 24 hours, but as it turned out, a prickly little part of the spell was that nobody could know about the swap. If they told anyone, it would make the swap permanent. 

“Well, we’ve screwed ourselves, then,” Eliot complained to Q. “If I switch with Rupert, you already know about it.”

“Not if we all swap. I think we can modify the spell to make it work for three people. So Rupert, you would swap with El, El swaps with me, and I swap with you.” 

They found a spot in the cellar where they were relatively safe from discovery and hunkered down over the spell for hours. Finally, they figured out the modifications and mixed the potions, three separate ones to make sure that the right swaps occurred. 

“Bottoms up!” Eliot raised the small, wooden cup and chugged his potion like a shot. Quentin and Rupert followed hastily. Eliot knew that this was not the time for frivolity, but he was really, really looking forward to being in his lover’s body. 

Then they waited. And waited. “How long before this is supposed to kick in?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t say. Maybe we missed an ingredient? Or the circumstances are wrong or -"

Eliot was violently reminded of their trip to Brakebills South as he felt himself suddenly trying to squeeze into a smaller frame. He felt wildly off-balance, and then realized he had changed perspective in more than just height. He was looking at the other side of the room. So their bodies had stayed in place, and his mind had moved? But there was Quentin, still in his vision, looking equally uncomfortable and confused. So - he looked down at his calloused hands peeking out from the worn canvas sleeves.  _ Fuck _ . 

“I’m in the wrong body,” he called out. “I’m in the wrong fucking body!” His new accent felt ungainly in his mouth.

Q looked at him in a panic. Or - not-Q, maybe? Not-Q held up a hand in what appeared to be a calming gesture. “Okay, let’s all just say who we are and we can figure out what went wrong. I’m Rupert.” It was eerie - the way it looked like Q and sounded like Q but did  _ not at all  _ move like Q. 

“I’m Eliot,” his voice came out in a rolling lilt.

They both looked over at Eliot’s body, which was just staring in horror off to one side. “Umm, guys? Do you see a, umm, person over here?”

_ Shit.  _

“That you, Q?” he called over to his body, nervously. God, it was weird watching himself. Normally, he would be entertained, but if Q had just discovered Charlton, entertainment was about to be the last thing on his mind.

“Yeah. Yeah it’s me, but - El, there’s a person in your head.” And then he jumped a little. “And - he’s fucking talking to me. What the fuck, El?!”

Okay. Damage control. Right. If he could just calm down, and think. “So, Q, it’s a long story, but that’s Charlton. He kind of came back with me from the happy place.”

“Yeah, he told me. Not making you sound less crazy right now, El. What the fuck is your happy place?” Q demanded.

“Right - it was basically my memory palace, where the Monster sort of, trapped me, while I was possessed.” Eliot explained.

“You guys seem to have had quite an adventure,” Rupert cut in, his Q-shaped voice tinged with a bit of snark. “Maybe you could have sorted this all out _before_ we were messing with spells? It’s entirely possible the presence of an _entire_ _other person_ in one of your minds would have changed the circumstances a tiny bit.” Ironically, that actually did sound a lot like what Q might say.

Eliot’s hands - or, well, Rupert’s hands - started shaking. He could fix this, get them all in the right bodies, or well, the right target bodies, anyway, and then he could talk to Q, explain everything. Nothing good was going to happen so long as Charlton had a direct line of communication to Q. He took a deep breath and started working the calculations again, this time accounting for the additional internal circumstances of the previous swap as well as that of Charlton. Once he worked it out, he quickly made a new round of drinks and handed the cups out with fumbling hands. 

The relief was palpable when they settled into their new bodies and realized it had worked out correctly. Rupert had his own moment of surprise in Eliot’s body when he saw Charlton for the first time, but quickly acclimated, seemingly engrossed in silent conversation with the bizarre man. For Eliot, being in Q’s body came with a strange sense of homecoming - maybe not from this direction, but he  _ knew  _ this body. He looked over at Quentin (in Rupert’s body, now) in concern, and felt his heart drop as he took in the look of pure fury and betrayal that painted his new features. He tried not to focus on it, even as he struggled to keep from sobbing in fear and shame, and instead to throw his energy into the task at hand. 

“Rupert, I assume you know where you’re going?” Rupert nodded. “Please be careful. That’s my body you’re putting in the line of fire, after all. If things get hairy, just twist the ring,” Eliot reminded him, gesturing to his left hand. 

And then they were alone. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Eliot felt small in this body, like he could roll himself into a ball and hide under the table. He didn’t want to look at Q right now. He couldn’t bear to see his sadness and pain etched in the wrong face. He didn’t know how to make this right. He had no idea what Charlton had said to Q in those few minutes while he was fixing the spell, and he didn’t think he had a right to ask. So he just cowered, and waited.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, El?” The soft voice startled him. He had expected vitriol, but Q’s new voice just sounded so forlorn, it nearly shattered Eliot’s heart. 

“I -"

“Charlton said he was the one trying to get your attention when we were moving the moon. That you let him out during one of the time loops when the moon broke. So you have had him in your head all the past few weeks we have been here and you never said. He was in our room, listening to everything, seeing everything. I feel - I don’t know, a little violated?”

Eliot felt woozy with guilt. His eyes were swimming. “I’m so sorry. I swear it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t - it was only by accident, the first time, before he knew what to expect, and he didn’t stay, I promise. And as for telling you - I was just scared of what you would think, how you might see me after -"

“Scared of what? Charlton said you were worried that telling me would make me want to leave you. But why, El? Why on Earth would I leave you? Because you have a seemingly innocuous man inhabiting your mind involuntarily, who seems to very much want to get out into the real world? I don’t buy it.”

A self-deprecating laugh tore from his throat. “Come on, Q. You knew what you were getting into with me. I’m a fuck-up. I get scared anytime there’s a hard truth. I get terrified anytime there’s a part of me that’s vulnerable, that if I expose it, someone will stab me, right there where I’m soft and weak.  I was so convinced the Monster was still in me. That whole week and then all those days in the time loop. You were with me for all of it, only you don’t remember. I was a mess. I was killing all of us over and over and over and I just couldn’t get my shit together and open the damn door. In the end, it was just fucking Charlton, and as soon as I let him out we solved the damn thing and everyone was happy and I just wanted it all to go away. I didn’t want you to think I was even more of a fuck-up than you already signed up for.”

“Except it didn’t go away, obviously. It never does. And how long do you think we can keep a relationship going when you keep hiding things like this? I - what if it was something worse? I don’t feel like I can trust you anymore.”

Eliot didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any worse in this moment but he felt his entire world tremble with those words. “Q - what are you saying?” he whispered, icy dread pouring over his body.

Quentin’s expression softened slightly, and he rolled his eyes. “Eliot. I’m not leaving you. The very fact that you always immediately go there says that you don’t trust me, either. I’m in this for the long haul, but you can’t keep running away from me. I think, when we sort out this Fillory thing, we need to talk to someone - separately or together, you pick.”

Eliot’s lip curled in instinctive disgust. “You mean, like _couples_ _counseling_? Pretty sure those always end in break-ups.”

“That’s because you only know what you’ve seen on TV, where they just use it as a shitty plot device. There are like, a million articles proving you wrong on this. And anyway, it’s not like we are going as some last ditch effort to save our relationship, or fix something that is beyond repair. We are fucking great together, Eliot. We work. We have fucking - incendiary sex, and, and, I can’t imagine living without you, and every time you get close to me, or just - exist in the same room - I hardly see anything else.” 

Tears were pooling in his eyes, but they weren’t falling. His mouth twisted into a strange grimace - his normal well-worn patterns of expression were coming out all wrong on this new face. But the words alone were piercing through the ice in Eliot’s veins, thawing him. Quentin took a breath, resettling, and continued. “We just need to work through some stuff, some baggage we both have, from our lives long before we even knew each other, and yes, some from our lives since we knew each other, and learn how to trust each other to, like, hold open space for not just the best of each other, but the worst, too. And how to talk about it.” 

Eliot nodded, sniffling. These tear ducts were  _ way  _ more responsive than his own - clearly Quentin’s body was used to a lot of crying. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Okay, we can go to therapy. Whatever you think will help. I want to be a person who is worthy of all the beautiful shit you just said. I  _ want _ to stop hiding all the time. I  _ want  _ to share it all. It’s just - not something I’ve been historically good at.”

“Come here,” Q said softly, and wrapped Eliot into a hug. The canvas jacket poked and abraded, so Q leaned back and pulled it off. Hugging him like this was so strange - he was used to wrapping his whole body around him, tucking him inside his arms. Now they were more or less equal in size - he might even be a bit smaller. But the way Rupert’s body tightened its arms around him automatically, nuzzled its face against his hair, and just hung there like an otter, or something - that was pure Q. 

And as they relaxed into the embrace, Eliot started to calm down enough to remember whose body he was in. He felt the tightness of the muscles around his neck - stress - the comforting weight of the curtain of hair that now reached to the bottom of his ears - good for hiding - the potential energy coiled up in him like a spring. The soothing jersey fabric of his t-shirt and hoodie, the soft washed denim of his jeans. He felt so - comfortable. And like - like he didn’t take up so much space in the world. 

Normally, Eliot would hate feeling like this, but he  _ knew _ how Q inhabited this body, how he felt about all these things. And it was exhilarating to be feeling it now, himself. He felt the numbing undercurrent that must be his depression, just lapping at the edges of consciousness, and even that was somehow a comfort to feel, finally, to experience for himself just a little taste of the horrible poison that threatened at all times to flood and wash away the person he loved. 

“Q,” he whispered, and felt Quentin shiver at the sound of his own voice. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

“I know, El. I love you too, you know that. And I know it’s hard to change the way you have been dealing with shit like this for forever. It’s okay, really. We’re okay.”

They continued to just sit in this cuddling pose, breathing in the closeness for a while in silence. “Q,” he whispered again, a bit more confidently, this time. “Your body feels nice.”

Quentin gave a startled laugh and pulled back. He watched his own body with dawning realization. You mean - my _ body _ ? The one you’re in?” and a look of mild horror came over his face as Eliot stretched his features into a naughty grin. “Eliot - what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, I’m just realizing that Rupert might be gone a while, and who knows if you’ll ever let me do this spell again, so maybe I should explore while I can,” He teased. “See if there are any secrets  _ you _ have been keeping from  _ me _ , any secret  _ erogenous zones.”  _ As he spoke, he ran his square hand up his furry forearm, feeling the gooseflesh rise as he brushed over the hairs. “Ooh, sensitive. I like it.”

Quentin looked like he wanted to run and hide, but also like he couldn’t turn away. His eyes were glued to Eliot’s hand as it stretched over his pec, pinky dragging across a nipple underneath the thin t-shirt. “I knew these would feel good,” Eliot chuckled. “So your body really is just that responsive, huh?” 

Quentin swallowed loudly. “Eliot - I dunno about this, it’s kind of - weird. I feel - weird, looking at myself.”

“I didn’t say you had to stay, sweetheart. I’m just playing with my boyfriend, you can go do whatever else you want.”

“I’m not going to just leave you alone here to use my - my body for your own enjoyment, while I’m not even there to feel it!” Q hissed, eyes looking a little wild. He was so conflicted. It was sweet, if a little heartbreaking. Eliot knew that if he were watching Q play in  _ his  _ body, he would be recording that shit for the spank bank. But Quentin had never had a healthy self-image. Maybe this was his chance to change that, a little. An apology, of sorts, for not telling him about Charlton.

“Tell you what. I’m going back to the room. I’ll give you a few minutes to think it over before I get started. And if you really don’t want me to do anything, I give you my word that I will not touch my -  _ your _ self at all. But just know that I  _ really, really  _ want to. And I  _ really, really  _ want you to watch.” And he turned without another word and walked out of the room, giddy with anticipation and only a tiny bit worried about Q cocking out. 


	2. You're lemon or you're lime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren't into threesomes, skip from the beginning of Chapter 2 to the line - '“So,” Rupert started, before pausing to take a huge gulp of the grainy swill that passed as Fillorian coffee.'
> 
> Thanks to punkfistfights for the alpha read!
> 
> Also, this title references two Magnetic Fields songs, lyrics in Italics.  
> Promises of Eternity  
> Sugar World

_ Please forgive me for all the things I've done. _ _  
_ _ Sugar give me the love I need to carry on living. _ _  
_ _ Living without you I'd just die _ _  
_ _ With you, with you I can hold my head up high _ _  
_ _ And tell the crowd that I'm so proud _ _  
_ _ It makes me want to cry _

_ Sugar World of you _ _  
_ _ Sugar World what can I do _ _  
_ _ Sugar World you're so Sweet _ _  
_ _ You're a Sugar World _ _  
_ _ To me you're champagne or ruhr wine _ _  
_ _ Will you make up your mind _ _  
_ _ You're lemon or you're lime _ _  
_ _ You're pecan or praline _ _  
_ _ You're sky bar or cloud nine _

_ Sugar save me, come on save me from myself. _ _  
_ _ Enslave me, I never wanted anything else. _ _  
_ _ Looking, looking into your candy eyes. _ _  
_ _ Talking, talking about the day when I can _ _  
_ _ Make a vow, but that's not now. _ _  
_ _ It makes me want to cry. _

_ Sugar World of you _ _  
_ _ Sugar World what can I do _ _  
_ _ Sugar World you're so Sweet _ _  
_ _ You're a Sugar World _ _  
_ _ To me you're champagne or ruhr wine _ _  
_ _ Will you make up your mind _ _  
_ _ You're lemon or you're lime _ __  
_ You're pecan or praline _ _  
_ __ You're sky bar or cloud nine

-Magnetic Fields, “Sugar World”

Sure enough, hardly five minutes had passed, during which time Eliot had removed the hoodie and shoes, and was mostly just playing with his hair, before Quentin tumbled into the room, looking red-faced and nervous. 

“I knew you couldn’t stay away, baby,” Eliot purred. And as Quentin watched, he slowly pulled the t-shirt over his head. It got stuck on the way, of course - Q’s lack of coordination was more physical than mental, apparently. Quentin laughed and came over to help him, and when he looked down to see the now topless body in front of him, chest flushed, hair tousled, eyes full of heat - 

“Oh,” he gasped, barely audible.

“Sit down, baby. Sit down and watch me show you how good you feel.” Quentin sat, staring at his body in awe as Eliot continued to run his hands across his chest, feeling the nipples harden and abdomen clench. Q took a shallow breath as Eliot undid his jeans and slowly slid them to the floor. Eliot let a hand venture over the top of his boxers, and arched his hips instinctively into the touch. It didn’t feel  _ more  _ intense, in a strictly physical sense, than touching his own dick. But somehow, knowing it was Quentin’s dick, and that he was feeling it get hard, himself,  _ as _ Quentin, sent his brain on some kind of arousal feedback loop. He pulled the boxers off, and held his hand out to Q. “Get your fingers wet, baby.” 

Q tentatively leaned forward, taking his own fingers into his mouth and licking them until they were slick. Eliot wrapped them around his dick, feeling a lot bigger now in his Q-sized hand, and leaned his head back with a slightly-exaggerated moan. “Oh baby, you feel so good.” 

“ _ Fuck _ , El,” Q whined, clearly stunned by his own reaction.

“You seem overdressed. Don’t you wanna see what your idol’s body looks like? Feels like? Such a silver fox, I can’t wait to see what you’re hiding under those clothes,” Eliot coaxed.

“He’s not even that old, El, Jesus. Like, mid-40s, tops.” Quentin wavered, but then undid the buttons with clumsy hands. Once he was shirtless, he awkwardly ran his hands over the smooth chest but looked at a loss. “I - this doesn’t feel right, Eliot, I’m not - Rupert’s not  _ here _ , we can’t just -  _ use _ his body like that, not without his permission.” He blushed as the implications of that last bit sank in.

“Hmm, I think you have a good idea there. Maybe we should wait until he comes looking for us, and ask for permission, then?” He held Quentin’s gaze with a silent question - was he okay with inviting another person into bed with them? Q dropped his chin and peeked coyly out from his lashes, biting his lower lip. A yes. 

Almost by design, the rumble of a familiar voice trickled in through the door. “Hello? Quentin? Eliot?”

Eliot’s grin became positively wicked. “And there he is now!” He said brightly, tucking the sheet around his lower half casually. “You gonna go fetch him for us?” 

Quentin jumped up. “Yeah, I’ll just -" he gave a sort of shrug and cracked open the door. “Umm, we’re in here?” he called and backed into the room, holding the door open slightly wider. 

Rupert continued talking as he approached. “So that was horrifying, as expected. But certainly fruitful, and I grabbed this book off his desk on my way out, which I expect will give us some clues about his -"

His voice trailed off as he looked at the bed, then back at Q, standing sheepishly and still half-coy by the door.

“So,” Quentin started, and then coughed. “So, we umm, were just talking, and - it seemed sort of rude to do anything, umm, intimate, while the spell was still, you know, unless -"

Rupert raised one eyebrow. Eliot watched the man use the natural strengths of his face in delight - he  _ did  _ give good eyebrow, after all. “We were wondering how you would feel if we borrowed your body for more than just spying, is what he means,” Eliot teased. 

Quentin huffed. “Jesus, Eliot,” he muttered. 

Rupert looked a bit thrown, at first, but then stepped carefully over to the table and put down the book. He looked over the pair, assessing, before responding with a low intensity that made even Eliot shiver. “I won’t lend to you. But, if you ask nicely, I might share.”

Quentin gave a little, involuntary whine. Of course, anyone using Eliot’s Dom voice would send him into a tizzy. Double points if it was Rupert fucking Chatwin, childhood hero and teenage wank fantasy. 

Rupert sauntered over to the bed, unwrapping his shirt as he went. He pulled the tie out of his hair and let Eliot’s curls fall around his face. Eliot reached up and touched them, entranced. “Can I?” He asked, hand pausing. Rupert nodded, and he ran his fingers down across his long throat, over his chest, watching the man close his eyes and sigh in pleasure. It was surreal, watching another person take pleasure from his own body. He had  _ maybe _ spent a little time with his golem before they mirrored his consciousness (because doing anything after the mirroring would have just caused, like, total pleasure-feedback-loop brain death) - but it was nothing like this. Watching his own body move and react in unpredictable ways, watching another person enjoy it in his place, was fascinating. He stood, realizing how fucking tall his body was from this angle, and tilted his lips up for a kiss, when - 

“Hey, enough navel-gazing,” Q protested. “What about me?” He pouted.

Eliot turned to him, lids heavy. Right. His boyfriend, the nearly-silver fox. “Mm, lemme kiss you.” 

He reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Q didn’t melt in quite the same way under that grip as he did in his own body, but it was close. They kissed, and kissed, and touched, and then Q remembered he was touching his own body and that there was only a sheet between his hands and his own dick, and he got adorably confused and turned on by the realization. Meanwhile, Rupert had undressed completely and came up behind Eliot, making his  _ very large _ presence known. Eliot’s eyes glittered at the feeling of his own cock pushing into the top of his tailbone. 

“How does it look, baby?” He asked. “Seeing yourself all wrapped up in my body like this?” He ground back into Rupert, who gave a wanton moan as he wrapped his large fingers around Eliot’s hips and pressed their bodies together, bending down to suck his neck. “Come on, get your pants off. I wanna see what our new friend looks like,” which was met by a rumbling laugh he could feel all through his back. 

Quentin started to pull off his pants, and then his eyes shot up to Rupert. “Wait - is he - Charlton - is he- ?” 

“Oh, he definitely ran far away as soon as he saw you two half-naked. Not to worry. It seems you have scarred the poor boy for life.” Quentin’s shoulders dropped in relief as Eliot laughed, and he finished undressing. 

“Not bad, Rupert,” Eliot said as he ran his eyes up and down the naked form. “Now get over here, Q, and touch yourself.” He reveled in the feeling of being surrounded by two bodies larger than the one he occupied - it was not a sensation he had experience with, after all, It felt good, safe. Protected.

“I changed my mind,” said Quentin. “I wanna see you kiss yourself, after all.” And he turned Eliot by the shoulders and pushed up against him, as Rupert captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Eliot felt light-headed. “And now, I wanna see you suck your cock,” he said right into his ear, and Eliot’s knees buckled. He dropped to the floor and dove in eagerly, licking his cock to the tip. Rupert moaned, instinctively grabbing at his hair.  _ Oh, that felt fucking amazing _ .

“Wow, Q,” he murmured. You really do like getting your hair pulled.” Q laughed delightedly. He stepped around to play with Rupert’s nipples as Eliot opened his lips wide and tried to suck in as much of Rupert as he could. It was impossible to get it all, but Q’s gag reflex was tolerably low and he was able to make it over halfway before it tickled the back of his throat in a warning. He worshipped his cock for a while, jaw aching gloriously, until Rupert was pulling him off, panting. Before he could come back up for a kiss, Q was grabbing Rupert and kissing him instead. 

“You know, there’s a perfectly good bed right over here,” Eliot motioned. “Big enough for the three of us, I’m sure.” Q and Rupert just kept kissing and grinding. He grabbed each of them by the elbow, intending to pull them to the bed, but instead they both just turned and started lavishing their attention on him. Even Q - Eliot was honestly a bit surprised how excited Q seemed to be making out with himself. He actually seemed drawn to it, once he had accepted the situation.  _ Just had to get him out of his own head. Literally. _

Rupert was the one who actually seemed the most apprehensive about his body. Kissing was one thing, but when Eliot finally got them onto the bed, with Quentin in the middle ( _ some _ things were going as expected, at least), he definitely didn’t seem keen on fucking himself at first. But as Q responded delightfully to the familiar sensation of his long, lubed-up fingers working his ass open, at the same time wrapping his mouth enthusiastically around his own dick, Rupert’s reservations seemed to disappear. And Rupert  _ did  _ have an amazing body. Smooth and tan, more muscular than Q’s body, maybe a little soft in the belly but nothing to sneeze at. And a dick Eliot wanted inside him as soon as possible. 

“Q. Q, darling,” Eliot said, tucking a hand under his chin and gently pulling him off. “Will you fuck me while Rupert fucks you? Your body needs a dick so badly right now, I can hardly stand it.” Quentin nodded, eyes wide. “I can turn around, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“No - no, I - wanna see it. See  _ me _ .” 

Eliot felt his skin prickling all over. “Okay, baby, open me up. Use the spell, don’t make me wait.” And while Q was tutting out the prep spell, Eliot made a protection sigil around all three of them, just in case. He hardly finished before he felt the wave of muscle relaxant working up through his channel. He dropped backwards, entranced as Rupert slowly pushed Eliot’s cock into Quentin. Rupert’s body wasn’t used to his size, but Q was - and judging from his reaction, he absolutely loved the feeling of it spearing him open in this body for the first time. Watching them both adjust, he had to keep his hands far away from his dick, gripping the sheets so he wouldn’t come all over himself immediately. Quentin was breathing hard on his hands and knees, hovering above him, drops of sweat falling from his chest and forehead as he got used to the feeling of being filled so completely, drops that sizzled as they landed on Eliot’s skin. Finally, Q’s grimace transformed into a look of bliss as Rupert’s hips met his ass and stilled. 

After a pause, Rupert gave an experimental half-thrust, and Q responded with a surprised shout. Rupert laughed, but it was strained. “A loud one, is he?” looking at Eliot. 

Eliot winked conspiratorially. “Just you wait,” he said, tutting the lube spell for Q before reaching up to pull them down on top of him, feeling Quentin slide inside him with a sigh of relief. The weight of him on top of Eliot, along with the weight of Rupert on top of Q - it was better than being in the middle, as far as Eliot was concerned.

But Q seemed to be very happy right where he was. “Fuck, this feels - too good, El. I don’t know how long I can last,” he groaned. Rupert shifted above him and he moaned even louder. Eliot watched Rupert use his body athletically, pulling almost all the way out, which pulled Quentin partway out of him as well, then slamming them both back down again. He watched Q start to drift, little grunts falling from his lips, eyes closed in the bliss of being pushed back and forth by the bodies around him. 

“Q, open your eyes, look at me,” he groaned. “You said you wanted to see, so look.” Quentin struggled to pull his focus back, but once he did, he gasped in dazed shock at the vision. 

“Look at how gorgeous you look.” Buffeted by the rhythmic motions, Q looked, helplessly turned on by the sight of his own body flushed and sweaty, the sight of his legs folded almost completely in half, his cock bouncing with every thrust and leaking fluid all over his stomach. 

“Eliot, Eliot,” he whined. “I’m gonna come Eliot, I can’t hang on,” and Eliot just squeezed around him in response. Then, with a cry, Q was coming, and Eliot felt his cock pulse inside him, filling him. Rupert kept going and for a minute Quentin was just along for the ride, coming down from his orgasm and going limp to the point where Eliot had to brace him as Rupert gave a few final thrusts and then he, too, was coming. Eliot reached down and gave himself the last strokes he needed, watching Quentin nearly drool at the sight as he came all over his stomach and chest. He dipped his fingers in it and pressed them into Q’s mouth, who gave a little whimper as he sucked the taste of his own come off his fingers.

Rupert sat back. Q’s eyes watered as he slid out, and he looked like he might even cry at the loss. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Eliot soothed, helping him roll to one side so they could separate. He felt a similar jolt of emptiness at the action. Rupert lowered himself carefully to the other side so they were all curled around each other, Quentin still in the middle. There were soft kisses, calming touches, and cleaning spells. As the room grew quiet, Eliot felt Quentin tense a little in his arms. “Don’t overthink it,” he murmured. 

“No, it’s not that.” Q huffed. “It’s - well, no offense Rupert, but it’s clearly been awhile, and this body is starting to - complain, a little.”

“None taken. It can hardly be helped - and I know a few healing spells for that sort of thing.” He moved his hands, and the tension drained from Quentin instantly. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“No need - I’m going to benefit, too, obviously.”

Their words blurred in Eliot’s mind, as he felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him. Q’s body was pulling him down, down. He struggled to stay with them, but then felt a hand brush fondly over his cheek and nuzzled into it blindly. 

“You’re so sleepy,” Quentin smiled. “I know, that’s what always happens to my body after. It’s kind of sweet seeing it work on you.” Eliot murmured in assent. “Go to sleep, love,” he said gently.

As Eliot was drifting off, he heard snippets of the conversation continuing beside him. 

Rupert, reluctantly: “We should, perhaps, talk about what I learned - I know Josh said the macarons would also leave Plover’s memory of the conversation fuzzy, but on the off-chance he remembers and comes looking for revenge -"

Quentin, sounding conflicted: “Surely, we’re okay for one night? Josh also said those things would last for hours, if I recall.” 

Rupert, capitulating: “Okay.” And then they were silent, radiating warmth and closeness until sleep overtook them all.

\--

In the morning, they did it again. Well, not exactly - Rupert didn’t want to come back to a body in severe need of medical attention, so it was more handjobs and blowjobs and some light fingering. It was just as incredible the second time, Eliot decided, as he came down Quentin’s throat from a rotated position above him, Rupert’s tongue in his ass, sucking Quentin down in return until he pulsed up into Eliot’s mouth as Rupert finger-fucked him and then they joined hands on Rupert to make him shoot all over both of them. There was no giant royal bath in the servants’ quarters, so they had to make do with a sinkful of cold water and cleaning spells. Clean and dressed (harder to finish than he expected when they all just kept wanting to  _ touch _ ), they cobbled together a small breakfast and finally,  _ finally _ decided it would be prudent to debrief on Rupert’s mission.

“So,” Rupert started, before pausing to take a huge gulp of the grainy swill that passed as Fillorian coffee. “It’s definitely Plover, in case there was any doubt.”

Eliot blinked. Ironically, after grilling Rupert within an inch of his life as to his identity, they had all just accepted that Plover was the Dark King instantly. To be fair, they had already believed it once before. “What gave him away?”

“He went on and on about the books, and how they were supposed to share the truth of Fillory. How we had all tricked him, back then. Betrayed him into imagining that finally reaching this place would somehow fix him, change him. Give him everything he wanted. How it twisted sweet, innocent Martin into something cruel and horrid, and how he needed to avenge what Martin became, cleanse Fillory of all the wrongness and make it a pure place of wonder, just like in the books. Completely forgetting, of course, that he made up half the stuff in the bloody books himself when the shite we told him was too dark for public consumption.”

“And the fact that, you know, it was his fucking fault Martin wasn’t so innocent in the first place,” Quentin growled. 

“Yes, obviously that. Clearly, the man isn’t very self-aware. Anyway, it seems that he was trapped somewhere -"

“The Poison Room. Zelda and Kady sent him back there after he helped us find the Secret Sea.”

“Could be. I don’t know what that is, but I recall you mentioned it before.”

“It’s a room in the Library where they store dangerous books - it’s toxic, but Plover survived there because of all the spells Martin put on him, when he prolonged his life so he could keep torturing him.”

Rupert shuddered. It couldn’t be easy, reconciling all the horrible stories about the Beast with his own memories of his brother, before. “Yes, that sounds right. He did say it was an extremely unpleasant place. But he was freed in some kind of confusion ‘during battle,’ a little over 300 years ago -"

“When we were chasing the Monster and his Sister, there was a kind of showdown, in the Library. It probably released the protections on the Poison Room. Plover always did seem to be kind of an opportunist. I’m not surprised he high-tailed it rather than sticking around to fight.”

Eliot broke in. “So, Plover wants to ‘cleanse’ Fillory. That explains the Takers - like his own personal clone army.” Quentin looked at him, both impressed and annoyed by the reference. “Although we still don’t know where they are coming from, or how he called them up in the first place. But how do we take him down if he’s essentially un-killable? And what’s with the de-aging?”

“Well, he didn’t say, specifically. I doubt that the macarons would have been able to keep him from catching on to me if I got too specific about my intentions. But I did find this book -" Rupert gestured to the weathered tome on the table "- and from looking through his markings, I recognized one of the spells. I was a nature student as well, back in my Brakebills days. And this spell is something we used a lot, on a smaller scale.” He flipped the book open to a page covered in scribbles and sketches, nearly obscuring the root diagrams and latinate text fading into the yellowed paper. 

“It’s called a vitality conduit. Normally, we use it to draw magical energy from plants to power simple spells, but this draws the energy and ties it to a person, as a protection of sorts - the ‘perpetual youth’ aspect just appears to be a nice side effect of all that energy. Anyway, It means that Plover is permanently tied to Fillory. Well, he’s specifically tied to one tree, I guess, but since the trees here are all connected by a single root system, which is connected to general ‘sentient flora’ all over Fillory, he basically can’t be removed or killed, even if we were able to remove Martin’s enchantments. The only way to destroy Plover is to destroy Fillory.”

_ Well, fuck _ , Eliot thought, miserable. He may have his occasional beef with Fillory, but he hardly wanted to see it destroyed. This place  _ saved _ him, if he was being perfectly honest.

“There has to be another way,” Quentin argued. “A way to fix this without blowing up an entire planet. We are in the practice of stopping apocalypses, not causing them.”

Rupert shook his head, sadly. “If you can think of a way, be my guest. But if we don’t, all I can see is a never-ending series of skirmishes and subterfuge. A poultice, if you will, on a festering wound that will never heal, so long as Plover is in power. And he will never give up that power willingly.”

They fell into discontented silence, the joy of the night and morning fading in the face of this insurmountable problem. 

“Okay, well, we should tell the others,” Eliot said. They turned to him in alarm. “Not about the spell, obviously, but about what we learned. We can just say we overheard him talking to Bick and drew our own conclusions, or whatever. We need all the help we can get in order to figure this out. And then we should go back to Earth - we can’t stay here, in case Plover figures out we’re on to him. We have to make a plan.”

So they gathered up the others. Fen was reluctant to leave the Fairies behind, but they assured her it would be fine - they had been dealing with this for 300 years, after all. The gang crowded through the portal and fell into the Penthouse, right into the center of chaos. Before they could even explain their plight, Alice and Kady had to share their terrible stories about torture and symbiote attacks at the hands of The Couple, the Wold Seed, and Psycho Fogg’s dangerous alliance. And then, while everyone was still processing that, Plum and Penny suddenly appeared in a heap on the landing, with their own tales of accidental travel and a greedy Timelord. Not one to be left out, Julia blurted out her own news - she was pregnant. Penny fainted dead away at that, and more chaos ensued. The refugees from Fillory sat around the counter, letting their worries disappear into the fray until a few hours later, when the three men gave sudden jolts, and Quentin actually fell off his chair with a shout. 

Margo turned to them in surprise. “What the actual choreographed fuck just happened to you three?!” 

They looked at each other in confusion, and then all collapsed into uncontrollable laughter as they realized the body swap spell had run its course. Finally, Quentin calmed down and wiped at his eyes (yes, his own eyes, in his own body, the swap had been fun but it was  _ so good _ to see Quentin back in his own body), before resetting himself on the chair as the entire room looked at him in expectation. “So, it all started with the macarons…”


End file.
